


lost in the memory

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Blow Jobs, Dreams, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Healing, M/M, Quentin Coldwater Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Quentin returns from the Seam, but his memory has been affected as a consequence of his mending spell. Luckily Eliot is there to help him remember.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 27
Kudos: 130
Collections: A Million Little Times





	lost in the memory

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lyric from "august":  
>  _but I can see us lost in the memory / august slipped away into a moment in time / cause it was never mine_
> 
> huge thanks to every single one of my cheerleaders (alittleoblivion, Rubi, jessalae) my beta (akisazame), and everyone who supported me along the way -- this fic wouldn't be half as good without you all. <3

Quentin wakes up in a hospital bed at Brakebills. The first thing he asks is, "Did we save Eliot?"

Julia sits forward and takes Quentin's hand, while Alice jerks awake in the chair beside her.

"He's recovering back at the apartment," Julia assures him. "He's gonna be okay."

"How are you… feeling?" Alice asks, sharing an unreadable look with Julia.

"I feel fine. Why? What should I be feeling?"

Neither of them answer his question. Instead, Alice asks, "What's the last thing you remember?"

He has to concentrate for a few moments, but then he remembers casting a mending spell in the Mirror Realm. He's pretty sure he was able to cast the monster into the Seam, but he's not sure. "No. Please tell me it wasn't for nothing. Did it work? Is the monster gone?"

"Don't worry, he's gone," Julia assures him. "You did it."

"It's just, the mending spell you cast refracted back on you. We're not entirely sure yet, but Dr. Lipson thinks it may have affected some of your memory."

"'Shattered', is the word she used," Julia clarifies, not pulling her punches.

"Oh," Quentin says, laying back against his pillow.

"It may not be that bad!" Alice insists. "We're supposed to get Dr. Lipson now that you're awake. She should be able to help."

Dr. Lipson makes the both of them leave before she starts her examination, which Quentin is privately grateful for. If he has lost portions of his memory, he'd rather not see the disappointed looks on their faces as he finds the gaps.

She asks him a lot of questions. At first, it's all current events and general stuff, and Quentin has no problem with that. Then the focus shifts to his childhood, and he still has an answer for everything. It's when they get to the more recent past that he starts to find blank spots. He remembers arriving at Brakebills, full of wonder as he first met Eliot, but he can't remember the exam, only that there was one. He remembers arriving in Fillory for the first time with Julia, but nothing about what they did there. It's almost like he can feel the space where the memory should be when he tries to access it, but it's been wiped blank.

Dr. Lipson nods. "That actually may be good news. Obviously we've never seen this particular form of memory loss before, but being able to identify the gaps should help you fill them as your mind heals."

"And will it heal?"

"I wish I could say for sure. My advice would be to spend some time stepping through your memories and making note of what's missing. If nothing else you can ask others to help you fill in the blanks."

Julia accompanies him back to the apartment once Dr. Lipson gives him permission to leave, while Alice promises to visit soon. It's as they're waiting for the elevator to go up that Quentin realizes he's about to see Eliot again, for the first time since he found out Eliot was still alive while the monster piloted his body.

'Proof of concept,' he'd said, and 'peaches and plums.' Quentin remembers the conversation he and Eliot had under the wedding arch, but, with a rising sense of dread he can't place, he finds a chasm of missing memories.

"Oh god, the mosaic," he says, clutching at Julia's arm.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Memories. Lots of memories, gone." With some relief he starts to place Arielle, Teddy, their perfect little cottage, moments with Eliot too intense to dive into. But a lot is gone, and he can feel it. "This alternate timeline that El and I lived. I don't know why, but it was-- it was important."

"Okay. You're okay. We'll figure this out," Julia assures him, and Quentin realizes he's panicking a little. Julia guides him into the apartment and sits him on the couch as he tries to calm down.

It takes a few minutes, with his mind catastrophizing further and further-- _if that much is gone, how much more is missing that he doesn't even know about?_ \--but he eventually shakes off the overwhelming sense of dread. Julia hands him a glass of water that he takes gratefully.

"Sorry," he says, taking a moment to breathe. "I guess it just hit me, how big of a deal this is."

"It's alright, you're fully within your rights to freak out. Do you wanna talk about it?" Quentin shakes his head. "Okay. Well, I'm here if you change your mind." She squeezes his shoulder. "We put Eliot up in your room for now. He's probably asleep, but you can go see him if you're up for it."

Quentin spots the soft light peeking out from under the door, so he knocks quietly before opening it. Something settles in his chest when he spots Eliot sitting up and looking at his phone, his hair pulled back and a serious look on his face.

"Q," Eliot says, relieved, reaching for him immediately. "I was supposed to get a message when you woke up," he says loudly, directing it outside the room.

Julia's "sorry!" carries into the room as Quentin moves toward him. He's so happy to see Eliot, really _Eliot_ , back in his body. He ignores Eliot's outstretched hand and crawls onto the bed to hug him around the shoulders, murmuring, "Eliot, thank god."

Eliot tenses for just a moment before he huffs a laugh against his ear and hugs Quentin back. "Good to see you too."

"How are you feeling?" Quentin asks, speaking over Eliot as he seems to ask the same thing.

Eliot laughs again, pulling back from the hug but leaving a hand touching Quentin. "Sore. Exhausted. But happy to be here."

"Good," Quentin says. Eliot's eyes look pained, though, as he stares back at Quentin, and it's all Quentin can do not to press further, to make sure he's really okay. He also has a thousand questions, things he's been planning to ask once they got Eliot back, but they feel less urgent now, like the driving force behind them is missing.

"What about you?" Eliot prompts. "Alice gave me a heads up that there might be some complications."

"Shattered memory, right?" Quentin sighs. "Yeah, at first I thought it was just a few details, but just a few minutes ago I realized… I think I lost most of the mosaic, El."

A series of emotions flicker across Eliot's expression before it smooths out. Quentin can't identify them all, but the few he does recognize - surprise, sadness, vulnerability - are not at all positive. "I'm so sorry," Eliot says, giving Quentin's arm a light squeeze before dropping his hand back to his lap.

Quentin's chest constricts with the feeling that he's letting Eliot down, somehow. "I still remember big things, I think. Like when we found out Ari was pregnant, and Teddy leaving home. But I can feel these empty pieces and I know there was so much more that I had before."

They're both silent for a moment, letting that sink in. Quentin feels a little bit like shit, dropping this on Eliot. Why did the most significant missing memories have to be the ones he shared with Eliot? Hasn't Eliot had enough bad news lately?

Then again, maybe it's a relief for Eliot. Quentin remembers sitting under the wedding arch, all reckless confidence as he propositioned Eliot, followed by the sting of rejection when Eliot turned him down. He certainly can't understand that reckless confidence now, but that sting of rejection is as strong as it was on the day. Maybe it's a blessing, starting over.

"I could help," Eliot offers, unknowingly calling Quentin on his bullshit. "Maybe tell you some of it, see if it helps jog your memory?"

"Would you?" Quentin says, his voice breaking a little. He swallows and tries to get his shit together. "Even if it doesn't spark anything, I'd still really like to know. Even if it's second hand." Fuck, he's such a lost cause.

"Of course. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Despite Eliot's sincerity, Quentin gets a sinking feeling in his chest. What he wants to know is what they'd really shared. Why those memories were synonymous with the word 'idyllic' in his head. What made him barrel forward with his 'proof of concept' speech? And if Eliot didn't want that, why would he have any reason to remind Quentin of it?

"Thanks," he says anyway. Unable to resist, Quentin pulls him into a hug again, hoping he won't get pushed away. "I'll catch you up on the past few months, too, if you want."

"Sounds like a plan," Eliot says. He doesn't push Quentin away, but Quentin doesn't linger, either. He doesn't want to press his luck.

"You should get some more sleep," Quentin declares, pushing himself off the bed. Eliot smiles at him, but his eyes look sad.

Quentin slips quietly out the door into the living room. He zones out as he heats something in the microwave, trying to place his current state of mind. The worst thing isn't just that he doesn't remember the mosaic. It's that he _does_ remember how it felt after. Even though Eliot's rejection had hurt, Quentin had always been comforted by the thought that he'd at least have those fond memories. And now he doesn't anymore.

The microwave beeps to break him from his reverie. Maybe it's better this way.

He stares at his Hot Pocket, willing himself to eat it. He doesn't know who he's kidding. If he only got to have Eliot once, he can't let it go. He needs to get those memories back.

***

Alice shows up about an hour later with a gift.

"It's a journal. It's nothing much, but I thought writing about your memories might help you put the pieces back together."

"It's great, Alice, thank you."

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know. Had a slight panic attack earlier about some missing memories; must be a day ending in y." He laughs humorlessly, ignoring her worried look. Despite that setback, his resolve is strong on doing whatever it takes to recover his memories. Plus, he's grateful to have a new goal to work toward. He assures Alice, "I'm okay, though. We did what we set out to do. Eliot's safe, and the monsters are gone."

"You were amazing," Alice says, taking his hand. "Even if it was the stupidest thing in the world, trying that spell."

"Well, that's me. Stupid to the end."

"Don't say that. I was so sure I'd lost you."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be flippant," he says. He wants to tell Alice more of what he's feeling, but the words won't come. "I'm just frustrated."

"I'm heading to the library. Zelda sent for me. Do you think you might be back at Brakebills, later?"

Quentin's eyes drift to the closed door of his room. "I think I'll stay here for a while. It'll make me feel better to see Eliot recovering, help where I can."

"Of course." She hugs him briefly, waves awkwardly at Julia, then heads back out. Quentin sighs, staring at the journal and hoping it can help him.

***

Both Quentin and Eliot sleep in late the next day, leftover exhaustion from their respective injuries. Quentin is still rubbing his eyes and checking his phone from the couch when Eliot steps out from his room.

Eliot blinks at him. "You can have your bed back, I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"Don't be ridiculous. Your injuries are physical, you should have the bed. I'm just fucked up in the head. Not even much different from normal," he jokes.

Eliot looks troubled by this, but he doesn't say anything.

Quentin joins him in the kitchen, and they eat breakfast in easy silence. "I'm going out later to get the atrocity that has become my hair fixed," Eliot says eventually. "You want to join me?"

"Do I have to change my hair?"

Eliot hums and runs his fingers through it. Quentin has to fight not to lean into the touch. "No, but feel free to keep growing it out."

On their way to the salon, Quentin tells Eliot all about how he won at cards to get their first Dewey coin, a currency that Eliot is lucky enough to never have to deal with. If they're looking for silver linings, at least there's something. Eliot is so engaged with the story that he sometimes falters putting down his cane.

When Quentin apologizes for being distracting, that he can tone down the gestures, Eliot says, "Nonsense. I'm still getting used to this thing, it's not your fault."

Quentin sits on his hands while Eliot gets his hair done. His stylist is an adorable redhead with freckles lining his face. Quentin can do nothing but stare as the two of them flirt their way through Eliot's haircut.

He doesn't know how long he's been zoned out when he realizes Eliot is standing before him, asking if he's ready to go. Quentin blinks up at him, taking a second to realize what he's seeing. Eliot's hair is styled much like it was when Quentin first met him, the sides cut short, and the thick waves in the middle styled forward over his forehead. The look is so very Eliot and so very not the monster that Quentin feels a smile bloom onto his face.

"You like it?"

"I do."

"Come on, I promised you cupcakes," Eliot says, offering his hand.

"You did?" Quentin says, flummoxed, as Eliot pulls him toward the door with his free hand.

"Bye, boys!" the stylist calls heartily, and Quentin waves in confusion on his way out.

Eliot is laughing when they get outside. He squeezes Quentin's hand once before dropping it.

"I'm… confused, but. Cupcakes?"

"We can get cupcakes. I was just enjoying Jeremy's jealousy. He thought you were my boyfriend."

"Oh," Quentin says, glancing back toward the shop as if that will help him reinterpret what he saw there. "You could have told him the truth, I wouldn't have minded."

"Oh I did," Eliot says as they arrive at the bakery down the street. "Come on, my treat. This body's been eating way too many carbs lately, but I'm not about to quit cold turkey."

Inside, Quentin dithers for a while between the cookies and cream and the cookie dough cupcakes, until Eliot sighs and buys him both.

"Do you remember the first time Teddy lost a tooth?" Eliot asks once they find a table and settle in. Quentin shakes his head, wiping frosting off the side of his mouth. "It was his 7th birthday--"

"Oh, hang on!" Quentin interrupts, reaching for his bag. "Sorry, just, I have something for this." He pulls out the journal Alice gave him and flips to a blank page, gesturing for Eliot to continue as he scratches out the details.

Eliot goes on to describe the carrot cake he'd made for Teddy for the occasion, and how Teddy had screamed in delight when he took a large bite of cake and his tooth stayed behind.

"Did we do the whole Tooth Fairy thing?" Quentin says, feeling a vague recollection but not sure if it's wishful thinking.

"We called it the 'Smile Sprite', what with all the fairy drama I'd left at home, but yeah. We snuck gifts under his pillow while he slept. That first time, you made him a wooden sculpture of a wolf."

"I think I remember that sculpture," Quentin says happily. "He carried it around with him a lot, right?"

"All the time," Eliot says warmly. "You stayed up nearly all night so he'd have something when he woke up."

Quentin writes down every detail Eliot gives him, plus the few he can recall on his own, feeling proud of his past self. He can almost picture the two of them trying to sneak the sculpture under Teddy's pillow as daybreak hit.

He feels a little giddy on their walk home, though that may be the sugar from the cupcakes. He channels the energy into cataloging more of his mosaic memories back at the apartment, working under the dim light of his desk lamp while Eliot naps behind him.

He gets lost in the process of writing down his memories, hyperfocusing for long enough that he's stiff when he shakes it off. Checking the time, he realizes he's been at it almost two hours.

He takes the journal in the bathroom and runs water for a few minutes when he gets into the thick of writing what he remembers of losing Arielle. He lets himself sob quietly as he pushes through the memories, hoping that remembering the bad will help him recover some more of the good.

When he comes back, Eliot is awake. Quentin had splashed water on his face and done his best to look presentable, but Eliot takes one look at him and asks, "What's wrong?"

Quentin clutches the journal to his chest. "I never thanked you, for burying Arielle."

"Oh, Q," Eliot says, pushing himself out of bed to pull him into a hug. "You did, it just didn't come 'til later. And you never had to say it."

Eliot pats him on the arm. "Come on, let's go put on some Parks and Rec and eat our feelings for a while." Quentin likes the sound of this, and Julia even joins them for a couple episodes and a handful of Oreos. As evenings go, it's definitely one of Quentin's better ones.

***

That night, Quentin dreams of the mosaic.

The dream starts with Quentin and Eliot finishing up dinner, a spicy soup that Eliot concocted, while the two of them ponder whether they have the energy for another mosaic attempt by torchlight.

Eliot comes close to where Quentin is standing by the window and swipes his thumb along Quentin's bottom lip. "Or we could stay in," Eliot suggests. Quentin's lips are swollen from the spice of the soup, causing a unique sensation as he licks and sucks Eliot's thumb into his mouth in agreement with the suggestion.

Eliot crowds into his space, groping his ass while he slides his thumb out of Quentin's mouth, pulling on his lower lip. Quentin tilts his head up in anticipation of the kiss that Eliot gives him.

"As if this wasn't your plan from the moment we heard from Teddy that he's not coming home tonight," Quentin says.

"You seem pretty on board with it, but correct me if I'm wrong," Eliot says, pushing a leg between Quentin's to rub against his hardening cock.

"How long has it been since you fucked me?"

"More than a week."

Quentin laughs. He thought it'd been longer.

"I know, no wonder you're dying for it."

Quentin doesn't take the bait, instead focusing on working aside Eliot's wide collar so that he can bite at his collarbone. If another week passes before he has a chance to get Eliot alone again, he wants to leave Eliot something to remember him by.

"I can take you right here on the dining table," Eliot suggests, his voice rough, and Quentin moans at the thought. "Right by the window, where anyone could walk by and see us." His hands slip past Quentin's waistband to squeeze at his ass. "Would you like that?"

As if they hadn't fucked right out in the open over the mosaic, in the early days when they could barely get their clothes off for want of getting their hands on each other. Of course, they had far fewer acquaintances back then who might stop by just to say hello, and the way Eliot says it makes him hot regardless. "I want it wherever you want it," Quentin says, because he knows how much it will get to Eliot.

"Yeah, you do," Eliot says, a finger running down his crack to tease at his hole. He captures Quentin's gasp as he leans down for a filthy kiss. Quentin fumbles blindly to start working Eliot's belt loose, his right hand alternating between helping and rubbing the length of Eliot's erection through his pants.

It takes some doing, their level of distraction high, but they manage to get undressed, then Eliot has him turn so that he's up against the window, looking out at the mosaic. When Eliot's first lubed finger traces the rim of Quentin's hole before sliding in, Eliot leans close to Quentin's ear and murmurs, "I've been thinking of this for days."

Quentin bites his lip and presses back in a silent plea for more. Eliot obliges him by moving back in with a second finger, still crowding him up against the window and telling him how good he feels.

By the time Eliot's got three fingers fucking in and out of him, Quentin loses his composure and starts begging.

"Tell me what you want," Eliot whispers, licking the shell of his ear.

"Please, Eliot," he pants, "it feels so good, but I want you inside me."

Eliot sucks on his earlobe for a moment, slowing down the slide of his fingers before pulling out entirely. "Get on the table for me?"

It feels awkward for a moment, sitting on the table while Eliot performs the preparatory spells, but then Eliot lifts his legs to hook them over his shoulders and presses up against his entrance, and Quentin forgets where he is. All sensation is focused in on that pressure of Eliot inching inside him, filling him up.

"Ah, Q," Eliot says, his expression blissful as he bottoms out, "you are too good to me."

"I'll be even better for you if you move," he says, pushing his legs against Eliot's back.

Eliot smiles down at him wickedly, taking his hips in hand before starting to fuck him in earnest. Quentin mutters words of encouragement, his hands grappling for the edges of the table for something to hold onto when Eliot speeds up.

After several minutes of blissful intensity, Eliot slows down and rubs the outside of Quentin's thighs. "Still good?" he asks.

"I… yeah," Quentin affirms. He's shaking a little, but he feels so good.

Eliot bends him in half to kiss him for a few long moments, then straightens to run his hands lightly over Quentin's body, giving Quentin the time he didn't know he needed to calm down a bit.

"I'm good," Quentin eventually says, realizing now how close he'd been to getting overwhelmed.

"Still liking this position?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, "unless… want to bend me over the table?"

Eliot's eyebrows shoot up to tell him what a dumb question that is.

"Okay, yes, you want to bend me over the table." Moving into place isn't too difficult, it's just that he feels the loss without Eliot's dick inside him.

But it feels so good when Eliot slides home again, his arms wrapped around Quentin's middle to hold him in place. He fucks into him with slow, even strokes until Quentin pants, " _harder_ ," and he goes right along with the suggestion.

Quentin inhales sharply when Eliot grips his dick, smearing precome to make the slide feel just right. Eliot urges Quentin to take over the momentum then, working up a rhythm so that Quentin is either fucking into Eliot's fist or back onto Eliot's dick with every movement.

"Yeah, that's it," Eliot says, and then, an indeterminate amount of time later, "you getting close?"

" _Yeah_ ," Quentin breathes. Eliot wraps an arm around him again to bring their bodies flush, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck before taking over again, fucking into him with sure, even strokes that he matches with his hand over Quentin's cock. Quentin's shout of, " _fuck_ , I'm gonna come," is immediately met with, " _yeah_ , come for me, Q," and that's all it takes for Q's vision to white out as he spends over Eliot's fist.

"That's it, that's it," Eliot is repeating as he continues pumping his hips, and then the rhythm falters and Quentin can feel the heat of him coming inside him.

"Fuck, that's so good," Quentin says, slumping down onto his elbows on the table, and Eliot slumps down with him, breathing heavily against his back.

"This may have beat our time sneaking onto the castle grounds," Quentin suggests later, after they've cleaned up the cottage and are preparing to go down to the stream to wash.

"Nothing could beat the time on the castle grounds," Eliot says, kissing him. "But a close second for sure."

Quentin jolts awake with a gasp, the feeling of Eliot's lips on his own still fresh on his mind. It takes him a moment to place his surroundings, then he realizes he's on the couch at the apartment. Luckily, no one else seems to be awake, so he's able to quickly slip into the guest bathroom and turn on the shower.

He palms at his cock as he waits for the water to heat up, still lost in the specifics of his dream. Eliot had known him so perfectly, even down to the break he needed before things got to be _too much_ during rough sex.

It doesn't take long for him to bring himself off once under the warm spray of the shower, not with those images fresh on his mind. It's too bad it was only a dream.

***

They develop something of a routine after that. Eliot figures out how he wants to get his doctor-mandated exercise for the day, he asks Quentin to join him, then they use the time to swap stories of the mosaic and of Eliot's missing time because of the monster.

Today, they're strolling through the park, and Eliot is delighting Quentin with the tale of the first time Arielle slept over.

"The best part is that it was all completely innocuous. We were just drinking and joking around, and it got late, so when she fell asleep we made her comfortable and thought nothing of it."

"And what did her father do exactly?"

"He showed up at the cottage with a pitchfork. Just one man. With a pitchfork. I don't know what he thought he would do with it, exactly, but it was very endearing to see him try to appear threatening."

Quentin laughs at the image. He doesn't remember this interaction, but he does remember Arielle's father, and he wasn't what anyone would call threatening in normal circumstances.

"After a long lecture on how wrong it was for us to taint her virtue - he couldn't seem to decide which one of us were more of a taint - he nodded firmly and then stalked back off into the woods."

Quentin snickers. "She for sure stayed over after that, though, even before we were married."

"Yeah, she was angrier about the whole thing than we were. I don't know what she said to him, but he was always perfectly civil to us after that."

Quentin misses her, but it's a dull ache. He doesn't think that has to do with the memory loss. It's more like, he will always wish for more time with someone he loved, but enough time has passed that he can talk about her without going on a spiral of despair.

The dreams continue too, much to Quentin's embarrassment, since he's sleeping out in the open. He starts using a thicker comforter just to lessen the odds of someone stumbling upon him when he first wakes up and seeing something awkward. He has to figure his non-existent sex life and the intimacy of these memories are playing in his brain to manifest these sexy dreams. He doesn't exactly want them to stop, he just wishes he were in a good place to enjoy them, both physically and emotionally.

After about a week of their new apparent routine, Quentin takes a day to go visit Alice. She's been heads down on some project for the Library, and Quentin has frankly done his best to stay out of it.

Still, they're overdue for a conversation, and with all of his emotional energy focused on the mosaic and his lost memories, Quentin feels guilty for putting it off.

They meet for lunch at a cozy little cafe with doilies on the table and crepes on the menu.

When she asks about his progress with the memories, he admits that he's mostly just been writing down what other people have told him. He ponders finally telling her about the mosaic, but her voice cuts through his thoughts.

"You've got to put the work in, Q, or you'll never get the memories back. Your brain will just settle with the memory gaps."

"I'm putting in the work," Quentin insists, frustrated. "Just because I'm getting the start of a memory from someone else doesn't mean I'm not spending effort to place it. This isn't exactly a cut-and-dry scientific condition here."

"I know. You're right. I just don't want you to give up."

Quentin sighs. He doesn't know why he always gets annoyed so easily with Alice. "Enough about my problems. How are you? How's the Library?"

"I can't talk about it much, but now that Everett's out of the picture, they're really turning things around. Zelda likes my ideas. I think with some work the library might be able to become what it's supposed to be: a font of learning accessible to all magicians."

"That's great, Alice. I'm glad to hear it," Quentin says, and they smile at each other for a moment.

They're interrupted by their food arriving, and the awkwardness descends again.

"Look, I wanted--" Quentin begins at the same time Alice says, "Q, we should probably--"

"You go first," Quentin says.

She gives him a soft smile. "We should probably talk about… what we are to each other."

"That's exactly what I was gonna say," Quentin says, relieved. "I mean, we're not jumping back in, right? I want us to be cool, but like…"

"We're a good team. Maybe not the best at relationships."

"You can say that again," Quentin mumbles.

"I guess I'm not saying never, I just think for now--"

"--we take it off the table. Yeah?"

"Exactly. I'm too busy with the Library right now anyway."

And Quentin's too busy with Eliot, he thinks but doesn't say. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Me too," she says with a genuine smile. Lunch doesn't feel so awkward after that.

***

On another day walking through the park, Quentin ponders that Eliot never seems to run out of stories. He's got so many just about farming and gardening alone, Quentin has to challenge him once on if he's making them up.

"Honest to god, we spent this much time worrying about vegetables," Eliot insists, sitting down on a park bench.

"It was a simpler time," Quentin says wistfully as he joins him.

"You're damn right," Eliot says with a longing look. Quentin has to look away.

"I'm sorry that I don't remember. I don't want you to think, like, those memories aren't important to me and that's why I forgot them."

"I don't expect vegetable memories to be important to you, Q," Eliot quips. He taps Quentin's ankle with his cane. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault. You probably only forgot those first because we never actually lived them."

Huh. Quentin had never thought of it that way, but Eliot could be right. It had always felt like he had lived it, before, but it was more like a dream, albeit a very vivid and complex one. He'd had to bury Eliot, back then, but he's got living proof in front of him that that timeline didn't come to pass.

"Alright, so start over about the carrots?"

***

The next morning, Quentin wakes up on high alert to sounds of someone puttering around the kitchen. He'd just been dreaming vividly of Eliot eating him out while he held himself above him facing the opposite way and sucking Eliot off, and his cock is throbbing with need.

He can spot Eliot over the top of the couch when he reaches up to get the cereal out of the cabinet. He shifts to his side, where he hopes he can obscure any signs of an erection, and feigns sleep. It feels like forever until the kitchen sounds fade away and he hears the sound of Eliot returning to his room and closing the door.

He makes a dash for the guest bathroom and has to squeeze his cock for some relief as soon as he closes the door. His libido has been going crazy lately. He wonders if it's his new meds, but he can't exactly complain.

The water in the shower takes a few minutes to heat up as always, but it's such a relief to step into the warm spray. Quentin waits for his body to adjust somewhat to the heat before facing away and spreading his cheeks so that the warm water slides down his crack and over his hole. He bites his lip, replaying the feeling of Eliot's tongue from the dream. He pulls the lube out from its hiding spot, where he'd put it after the third consecutive day of this, and begins to finger himself. It's not quite as good as what his imagination thought Eliot's tongue would feel like, but it still feels pretty damn amazing.

His orgasm hits him so hard that he shouts a bit at the rush of it. He immediately reddens as he wonders how loud that was outside the bathroom, but he's not too concerned as the rush of pleasure draws out while he continues to work his cock.

When he exits the bathroom, Eliot is on the couch watching TV. Refusing to dwell on his potential embarrassment, he ignores Eliot and goes to his room to change.

As he heads back out, still towelling off his hair, Eliot shoots him a smile. "I've got my follow-up with Dr. Lipson today. Feel like going to Brakebills?"

On their way over, Eliot continues the tradition of a mosaic story.

"Oh man, do you remember the time I broke my toe?" Eliot says.

" _No_. How the hell did that happen?"

"I wish I could say it was something heroic, like chopping down a tree or something. But no, I just got in a hurry carrying firewood and tripped on a tree root."

"Sounds heroic enough," Quentin says, snickering.

"We made a splint for it. Teddy thought it looked cool so we had to make him one too. It was adorable, watching him hop around. Made my own stumbling feel less awkward."

The affection in Eliot's voice is obvious. He misses their little family, as much if not more than Quentin does.

It makes Quentin's heart hurt in his chest, and he feels a little off for the rest of the story.

Alone during Eliot's appointment with time to reflect, he acknowledges the hurt for what it is - these memories are bathed in a light of happiness that feels real, but that he doesn't get to have now, in their current timeline. It hurts to hear and remember the love that they shared and know that Eliot chose not to pursue a relationship with him in the 'real world'.

From the appointment, Eliot gets cleared to walk without the cane, plus a spell to help with the healing. He's in a great mood as they're heading back, and Quentin wants to share in his celebratory mood, but he's faking it. He's pretty sure Eliot can tell.

Eliot misinterprets, thinking it's that Quentin is sad that he's not healing and getting his memories back. Quentin lets him think this, saying, "Maybe you're right. Maybe we should stop with the mosaic memories for a while, see if stuff starts coming back on its own."

"Okay, sure," Eliot says. "Whatever you think will help."

That night, he dreams of the mosaic, but the dream is completely tame. In it, he and Eliot are strategizing their next few attempts at the puzzle while a pregnant Arielle sits nearby and gives suggestions. The rest of the dream is them executing their plans, joking around with Arielle by telling her exaggerated stories of their time at Brakebills.

The next day, Eliot says he's going to Fillory to check in on Margo and the others.

Quentin glances up from his journal at the kitchen island. "What's with the box of alcohol?"

"I'm officially cleared to drink again, and I plan to celebrate with something that actually tastes good."

"Naturally," Quentin says with a smile. "Have fun."

"You're not coming?"

"I'd love to, but these new meds are actually kinda working? And I highly doubt 'fantasy otherworld where time flows differently' would fly as an excuse for why I need another 90-day supply after like two weeks."

"That's fair." Eliot sets the box down next to him on the island and hugs him around the shoulders. "We'll think of you fondly as we get drunk on martinis and lose at poker to the talking animals."

Quentin reaches up to squeeze Eliot's arms in a semblance of returning the hug. "Tell Margo I said hi."

"Will do. Send a rabbit if you need me."

Quentin laughs. As if he could ever keep his messages that short. "I think you mean _rabbits_ , but sure. You too."

He feels strangely restless the moment Eliot closes the door behind him. The thought of spending the day writing in his journal seems sad. He should probably be doing something meaningful with his life.

He decides to check up on Julia. He knows from their brief interactions at the apartment that she's been working with Penny and Kady on finding a way to access her magic again. He feels a bit guilty when he realizes how little he's been around to help, even though they live under the same roof.

His efforts lead him to the library at Brakebills, and he gets lost in a mental tunnel of research for a while.

That night, he goes back to sleep in his own bed, and it almost feels strange. He doesn't think he's ever gone to bed in this room without a looming fear and anxiety over Eliot's wellbeing hanging over him. Instead, he's surrounded by the scent of an Eliot who's alive and well. He has no trouble falling asleep.

His dream that night is set in Fillory 1942. He and Julia arrive there, save Jane, meet Martin, and seek out the knife maker for a weapon that can kill a master magician. Jane as the watcherwoman sends them forward in time, and Quentin wakes up as they first enter Ember's cave.

He jerks awake, both at the sensation of entering a god's presence and with the sudden realization that the dream fits perfectly into the space he was missing between his first journey to Fillory and preparing to face the Beast.

He catches Julia before she heads out for the day. "Do you mind hanging back for a few? I really need to talk to you."

She's happy to hang back, and Quentin quickly recounts the highlights from his dream. "Is that what really happened when we went through the phone booth?" Julia nods. "Okay. Um, because I didn't have that memory yesterday."

"That's great, Q! So things are starting to come back?"

"Well, actually, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. I think maybe I've been dreaming back my memories this whole time." She nods, looking confused but still listening. "I kinda just didn't realize they were memories because they were mostly… sex dreams with Eliot."

Julia snorts, and Quentin shoots her an exasperated look. "No, I'm sorry, it's just… I mean it _is_ kinda funny."

"...Yeah, okay," Quentin says, cracking a smile.

"So, hang on, how many times have you had sex with Eliot?"

Now it's Quentin's turn to snort. "Apparently a shitload. But all the times but one--as far as I know--were in that alternate timeline I freaked out about when we came back from the hospital."

Without getting too into the details, he tries to fill her in on the mosaic and the fifty years he spent with Eliot. They sidetrack for a while about his family and how cruel it was for Quentin to keep this from Julia, but eventually they circle back to Eliot. "I knew that we hooked up some. There are some memories I never lost. But these memories, if they're real, are so full of… of love, and care. And I know it wasn't just me, I can hear it when Eliot tells me stories of what I'm missing, but." He runs a hand through his hair. "Well, I wanted to try again after we remembered the mosaic, and he turned me down pretty emphatically."

"Have you talked about it since then? Or since you came back from the Mirror Realm?"

"Definitely not."

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. "Okay, let me ask another question before I tell you what I think you should do."

"Sure."

"Would you still have feelings for him even if you hadn't lived that alternate timeline?"

Quentin thinks on that for a moment. "Tough to say. I mean, I've had a crush on him since day one, I was just never brave enough to do anything about it, not until we'd been trapped together in past-Fillory for a year. And everything since then has been colored with those memories. But even when I was missing most of those memories, after the Mirror Realm, I still wanted to be with him. It's just gotten… a little more intense, the longer it goes and the more I remember."

"So you do still want to be with him."

"God, so much," he says, burying his head in his hands. "We fought so hard to get him back, a-and he and I have been like, spending every day together since. All I want to do is shake him and ask him where I went wrong."

"So do it." At Quentin's confused noise, she goes on, "Shake him and ask him where you went wrong."

"I don't know if I can handle being rejected all over again."

"It sounds like you're handling it every day. At least if you force the conversation you can find out what's really going on in his head."

She scoots closer on the couch and pulls him into a side hug. He takes a deep breath and lets out a long, drawn out, " _fuuuuuuck_ ," while leaning into her embrace.

***

A couple of days later, when Eliot still hasn't returned from Fillory, Quentin goes to see Alice. Other than the occasional text check-in, they've barely spoken since their lunch together, and he still feels like he owes her more than he gave that day.

They meet up at Brakebills--Quentin figures he should probably follow up with Dr. Lipson about his dreams anyway--and he catches her up on how the recovery is going.

He's not exactly surprised when Alice quickly moves on from congratulating him to asking a million questions to better understand. "Do they fade like dreams after you wake up? Or is it more like a full recovery every time you sleep?"

"Should I write you up a full diagnostic report?" Quentin snaps, then feels ridiculous for getting annoyed. "It's more like the second one, I just, I'm still getting used to it. Dr. Lipson had some theories too; I'm supposed to talk to her after this. I can tell you all about it after I've had time to figure out how I feel about it, okay?"

"It's okay if you're still figuring it out. But if you share it with me, the Library might be able to help."

Quentin would rather the Library go fuck itself, but he holds that one inside for now. Instead, he blurts out, "I have feelings for Eliot."

"Oh. Um, okay," Alice says, a half-smile frozen on her face, as if she can't choose which emotion to go with.

"I know that probably came out of nowhere, but I wanted you to know. I just don't want you to be blindsided, you know, if something comes of it."

"We agreed to move on, right? You can see whoever you want. I just hope he treats you well."

"He does," Quentin says before he even thinks about it. "I mean, we're not together, but. Fuck, I don't know. Why does everything always have to be so complicated?"

An awkward silence descends. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"Nothing, I'm sorry," Quentin says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should tell me about the latest from the Library. You were excited about that, before I made everything all about me."

Alice grants him a small smile, then dives into her latest news. Quentin pushes away his nervous energy and focuses on her for the rest of the visit.

***

Eliot returns from Fillory after a weeklong absence, his posture back to normal and a smile on his face. Sure enough, the first thing he says is that he's no longer sore, that the rest and the opium have helped him feel back to 100% again.

"Margo sends her regards, but she says she'll invent Fillorian brain meds herself if you don't at least send a note next time."

"I'll figure something out," Quentin promises. He should have gone for a hug when Eliot arrived. Now it feels like it'd be too awkward. "I've been working on my memories," he says instead, pulling out the journal. 

Eliot's eyebrows shoot up when he sees the book filled with three times as many pages from when he left. "I guess you were right, my stories really were holding you back."

"Not at all, in fact I think having things to build off of helps. So it uh, kinda turns out I'm able to dream back my memories? They started on their own, but Dr. Lipson gave me a potion that helps me drop into dream-sleep faster, so I'm able to get more back each night."

Quentin flips the book open to a random page and, after a moment's hesitation, hands it over to Eliot. "Oh, wow," Eliot says, flipping through the pages but not really stopping to read them.

"It's actually kind of fascinating? Apparently dreams already play a big factor in how we store memories, and when my mending spell bounced back on me, it shook loose my mental connections with those memories, but they're still there. Dreaming just helps me reconnect them."

The intensity of Eliot's smile has Quentin feeling a little uneven. "What?" Quentin asks. "You look like you're humoring me."

"On the contrary, I love it when you nerd out. So all of this is just from dreams? Have you been sleeping the whole time I was gone?"

"Not all of it's from dreams," Quentin admits. "I've also been using it as an actual journal. Getting some of my thoughts out. It's been strangely cathartic."

Eliot shuts the journal carefully and hands it back. "This coming from a man who started writing _Fillory and Further: Book 7_ the moment he had access to a pen and paper in Fillory."

"Yeah, well." Quentin smirks. "Sometimes you have to learn a lesson twice."

"Don't I know it," Eliot says, eyes dancing.

Quentin takes a deep breath and steels himself to dive into the speech he'd prepared. "So, um, one thing I've remembered this whole time… the conversation we had in Fillory, after we got back our memories of the mosaic." Eliot straightens a little. "I think maybe I've just had more clarity on it, without the memories to back it up. But you made a lot of assumptions about me back then, and I don't think it was fair."

"It wasn't," Eliot says, and Quentin's train of thought grinds to a halt because he wasn't expecting Eliot to own up to it that quickly. "Fifty years of memories or none, you deserved better than what I said to you that day. You still do."

Quentin's throat feels dry suddenly under the intensity of Eliot's stare, and he swallows. The rest of his speech floats away along with the righteous anger that had fueled it. "What if… what if I had forgotten?"

Eliot doesn't quite get his meaning at first. "I would still tell you what really happened. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't try to rewrite history."

"No, I mean, what if I had forgotten… and I asked again, today? Like, because I didn't know any better."

"Q, are you sure that you--"

"Fifty years, right? We work," Quentin barrels forward. "I can't remember it all yet, but I know it was important enough to be the thing that you referenced to let me know you were still alive."

He might be imagining it, but Eliot's eyes look a little wet. "What if you feel differently, once you get your memories back?"

" _Eliot_."

"Right. Fifty years. Go on."

"We dealt with all kinds of drama, probably stuff I don't even remember yet, and we did it together. Why not… try it again?"

He holds his breath under the intensity of Eliot's gaze. He's been riding on an impulse of a feeling, but the longer the silence hangs after his question, the more nervous he starts to feel.

Eliot's voice, when he does finally speak, is soft. "I would love that."

Quentin lets out his breath all at once. "You would?"

"If that's what you want. I'm still not sure you won't regret it when you remember, like, how awful I can be first thing in the morning or something, but. Well. I spent a long time very recently bottled up along with my emotions, and honestly I'm down to be with you in whatever way you'll have me for as long as you'll have me."

Quentin finds himself speechless. He'd been expecting a 'maybe' at best, a possible 'yes' after he made his case further, but nothing like this.

"Don't look at me like that. A lot has changed since we sat under that wedding arch. Plus Margo made me 'fess up before she'd let me have one of my own drinks in Fillory."

Quentin cracks a smile. "You and Margo talked about me?"

Eliot scoffs. "Once she got me started it was like I couldn't stop," he says, moving forward to pull Quentin into a hug. His hands move under Quentin's shirt to rest on the skin of his back as he holds him close. "I talked about you so much that she made me go a whole day without mentioning you on penalty of sobriety."

Quentin tilts his head up so he can meet Eliot's gaze. "I didn't have Margo, so all my words got dumped into the journal."

"Your poor writing hand," Eliot quips, pulling his hand up to press a kiss to the palm. Quentin breathes in sharply, and Eliot's eyes snap up to his, dropping his hand so he can lean in and close the distance between them.

Quentin kisses back eagerly, winding his arms around Eliot's shoulders to pull him down further. Kissing Eliot is somehow both familiar and completely new. When Eliot's tongue slips into Quentin's mouth, making his breath catch, it's exhilarating, but comforting at the same time.

Eventually, Quentin's neck starts to hurt from the angle, so he pulls back and licks his lips. A laugh escapes him suddenly. "I'm sorry. You literally just got home and I kind of dumped all of this on you."

"I expect no less from you," Eliot says, smiling. "Come on, I'm ordering us lunch. Then I want to hear what all you've remembered."

"You do?" Quentin asks, a little surprised.

"You got to hear me wax poetic about our domestic life together for weeks. I want to hear your side of the story."

Quentin curls up in the corner of the couch with his journal and Eliot joins him, sitting comfortably close. They order Postmates from Eliot's favorite diner and Quentin tries to decide which anecdotes are Good Enough to recount.

"Oh, this is a good one. That time we got drunk and then got lost in the woods."

Eliot laughs. "Oh no, I don't look so good in that one."

Quentin raises his eyebrows. "Who's telling the story here?"

"No, you're right. Go on."

"So it was definitely one of our high frustration days with the mosaic. I wanna say we started drinking before we even ate anything. And then in the afternoon you were _so sure_ that a bunny was watching us from the woods."

Eliot presses a hand to his face. "Dear god, save me from my past follies."

"So we followed it, of course, to figure out its nefarious purposes."

"Were you actually invested in the same conspiracy, or just humoring me?"

"Fully just humoring you," Quentin admits, "but still a little invested. Stranger things have happened after all. Anyway, so we followed this bunny for a while, trying to be stealthy, though I'm pretty sure we were failing miserably. After a while I kinda forgot what we were meant to be doing, and I think I convinced you to drop it, because eventually we just sat under a tree and swapped the bottle back and forth for a bit. We also… made out for a while," Quentin says, blushing.

"Hmm, tell me more," Eliot says, reaching out to toy with Quentin's hair.

Quentin sets the journal carefully on the armrest so that it will stay open to the correct page, then leans over to kiss him.

Eliot is right there with Quentin, grabbing the back of his neck immediately and deepening the kiss. Quentin makes a desperate noise and grabs at Eliot's shirt, wanting to get as close as possible while Eliot's tongue slides into his mouth just right.

Quentin is seconds away from crawling into Eliot's lap when the buzzer sounds, announcing the arrival of their food. "Shit," he says, settling back on his knees.

"To be continued," Eliot promises, kissing him lightly one more time before going to buzz the delivery person up.

Quentin takes a deep breath while Eliot putters around getting things ready, then grabs his phone to send Julia a quick _don't wait up_ text. By the time Eliot greets their delivery person, Julia has sent a reply. _I'll be out all day anyway, and I can stay over at Brakebills tonight. get it!_

They spread their food out on the kitchen island, deciding to share since everything looks amazing. Once he's got his plate ready, Eliot casually places a hand above Quentin's knee. "So, what happened next, storyteller?"

"Right. Well, once we decided to head back, we quickly realized we had no idea where we were, and we were both too drunk to pull off any kind of locator spell. So we stumbled around the forest for a while, and then I remembered the rabbit and made the mistake of reminding you about it."

Eliot laughs. "Oh god, I'd forgotten that part."

"Yeah, so Operation Bunny Find 2.0, until we both agreed it was a lost cause, and then we fell asleep in the grassiest area we could find."

"And then the next morning--"

"--we found the cottage immediately, yeah," Quentin says, and they laugh about it together.

They continue to chat about random memories as they eat, and Eliot keeps one hand free throughout the meal to rest on Quentin's thigh. It's that more than anything that leads Quentin to his next anecdote, as soon as he's finished eating.

"You know, another good one I dreamed up just the other day," he begins, flipping to the appropriate page of his journal, "our first night together after Teddy moved out."

Eliot's hand squeezes his thigh. "Yeah?"

"You were still entirely insatiable, even at that age."

"You're one to talk. As I recall that night wasn't exactly one-sided."

"It wasn't, but it was you that pounced on me as soon as the sun went down."

"Excuse me, you were the one performing some goddamn yoga moves all day on the mosaic. Don't pretend like you weren't deliberately showing off."

Quentin has to stop himself from giggling. "Anyway, so we headed inside and I was like, just about to suggest something for dinner, and then you had me up against the wall." Eliot's hand slides the slightest bit higher on Quentin's thigh. "I was admittedly impressed that you could hold me up that well, at your age."

"Better be glad you didn't say that at the time."

"Me? I would never go so far as to insinuate you were old."

"So then what happened?"

"Well, it had been a while, we were both a little bit desperate."

"It's okay to say 'came in our pants', Q."

Quentin smiles. "It was worth the mess. Plus, made it better for round two."

Eliot leans in and kisses him filthily, moving his hand the rest of the way to rub over Quentin's more than half-hard cock. "Much as I love strolling down memory lane," he says, "what do you say we work on some new memories?"

Quentin moans against Eliot's lips. "You don't want me to recount the rest of the night, when you fucked me into the mattress?"

"Not when I can do it instead of hearing about it," Eliot says.

"Fuck yeah," Quentin agrees, and they both stand up. Their journey to the bedroom is slightly delayed, what with them stopping to kiss and pull off pieces of clothing along the way.

Once inside and down to just their briefs, Eliot nudges Quentin back on the bed and then crawls on top of him, trailing kisses and bites over his stomach, his chest, his collarbone, his neck, making Quentin gasp at each point until he's a mess of arousal. He can feel his cock leaking precome into his underwear, and he pushes his hips up looking for some friction.

Eliot eludes him, though, and pushes his hips back down. "Patience, babe. We'll get there."

"Ugh, you're the worst," Quentin says. He reaches for Eliot's hand and, when he offers it, pulls it to his mouth to suck two fingers inside.

"Oh, _I'm_ the worst," Eliot says sarcastically. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Quentin licks and sucks Eliot's fingers methodically, thrilling at the way Eliot's mouth falls open as he watches him. "We should probably get these off before we have a repeat of the 'little bit desperate' situation," Eliot suggests, the thumb of his other hand brushing against Quentin's waistband.

It's the work of a few moments to rid themselves of that final bit of clothing, and then Quentin is blessed with all of Eliot's weight pinning him down as he kisses him thoroughly, their cocks sliding together between their bodies.

"I kind of can't decide what I want to do to you first. Any preferences?"

"You know I always want to go down on you."

"Fuck," Eliot says with feeling. "I mean, I know that on a memory-based level, but in practice I wasn't sure if that was still the case."

"It definitely is," he says, running his hands up and down Eliot's sides. He doesn't know what it is about sucking Eliot's cock that he loves so much, but it never fails to turn him on.

Eliot drops onto the bed beside him, and Quentin wastes no time crawling on top of him. He copies a bit of what Eliot was doing to him, licking and biting and kissing, moving from Eliot's lips down to his chest and even further until he's pressing kisses to the inside of Eliot's thighs.

"Mm, you are a picture down there," Eliot says, a hand sliding into the short hairs at the back of Quentin's neck. "Can't wait to see how you look with my cock in your mouth."

If it's a method to get him to stop teasing, it works, because all Quentin wants to do now is give that to him. He grips Eliot's cock and then licks it from base to tip, pausing to take in Eliot's expression, then doing it one more time before pulling the head into his mouth. The shout that Eliot gives as he tongues at the head of his cock goes straight to Quentin's cock, so that he has to push his hips down against the mattress to give himself that bit of friction.

Trying to remember his old tricks, or the tricks he's dreamed of most recently, Quentin works to open his throat and take in more of Eliot's length. There's something about taking so much of Eliot that makes him so hot. It doesn't hurt that Eliot is encouraging him at the same time, with his moans and his gasps and his utterances of "god, yeah, you take it so good."

Eliot's voice goes high suddenly, and with something like a whimper, he says, "Q, I'm gonna come." He starts shooting into Quentin's mouth immediately, his body jerking, his hands tightening perfectly in Quentin's hair, and it's all Quentin can do not to rut into the mattress and let Eliot's noises carry him over the edge too.

Eliot lets out a loud staccato breath as his orgasm fades and he slumps into the mattress. Quentin's heart is racing, but he focuses on swallowing and keeping his hands on Eliot to draw out his pleasure.

The next thing he knows, Eliot is sitting up, pushing at Quentin's shoulders until he figures out what Eliot wants and lets him get back on top. "Your turn," Eliot practically growls, then swallows Quentin down in one smooth movement.

"Holy fuck," Quentin says, throwing an arm over his eyes for a second so he doesn't get dizzy at the sensations. The sounds Eliot is making as he works over Quentin's cock are obscene and just making it that much hotter. Eliot's tongue is sinfully good, and he honestly doesn't know how long he's gonna last.

"This is so much better than my dreams," he says nonsensically. Eliot moans at that, and something about it makes Quentin's heart skip a beat.

"Oh shit, El, fuck, I'm gonna come." Eliot squeezes his thigh and takes Quentin in _impossibly further_ and Quentin chokes out a moan as he shoots down Eliot's throat.

Once Quentin is capable of coherent thought again, he pulls at Eliot's shoulders, urging him up so he can kiss him properly.

Eliot kisses him for a while and then pulls away to stare at Quentin's mouth, rubbing his thumb over Q's lower lip. "Listen," he says. "You know I'm not one to dole out praise where it's not due. But that is the hardest I have ever come from a blow job in my life."

Quentin can feel himself blushing, unable to keep the smile from his face. "Even including the mosaic?" he asks, not sure why he really needs to one-up his past self.

"Including everything. Everyone. You are a gift."

"One you could've had sooner," Quentin points out, unable to help himself. There's just something about 'I told you so' that he can't resist.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Eliot shouts, tossing an arm over his forehead dramatically. His expression is sober when he meets Quentin's eye again. "I'm really bad at this stuff. Like catastrophically bad. But I'm going to try to be everything for you that you deserve."

Quentin feels warm all over. "You won't have to try very hard. I just want you," he says, taking Eliot's hand. "Also, you can make it up to me by fulfilling that promise of fucking me into the mattress later."

Eliot's eyes light up. "Deal."

After a quick interlude to clean up, they both return to the bed by unspoken agreement and move into each other's space until they're all tangled up together. Quentin is so very grateful that Eliot's also a cuddler.

"You know, I don't know if you'd want this, for your memory book, but I can tell you a story you never knew to begin with." Quentin makes an interested noise, positioning his head on the pillow so he can better see Eliot's face. "Your birthday was coming up, one of the thirty-somethings, I don't remember which. I had this idea to sneak off to the market and hire one of the bards for a day, to sing you a Taylor Swift song."

"No way," Quentin says, delighted.

"Yeah, it would've been phenomenal, right? Only you wouldn't let me go! You kept saying I didn't know what produce to buy and insisted on going yourself while I stayed behind with Teddy."

"Oh god," Quentin says, burying his laugh in Eliot's shoulder. "I think I remember that birthday. We dropped Teddy off at the grandparents', and that night you made me come three times."

"Yeah, well, I had to come up with a new idea, and I knew where my assets truly laid."

"I appreciate all of your assets," Quentin says, directing a cheeky grin at Eliot. He gets an eye roll and a kiss for his trouble.

Eventually, Quentin starts feeling restless and gets up to do something with his energy. He pulls on his briefs and spends a short while cleaning the apartment while Eliot follows him around and pretends to help. Quentin doesn't care; he appreciates the eye candy, and he thinks Eliot is doing the same.

"I've been thinking about what I want to do next," he says, throwing the linens from the couch into the washing machine. "I mean, it feels like it's only a matter of time before the next Beast or Monster comes along, but if we can somehow avoid world-ending terror for a while, I thought I might teach, in a way. I've been thinking about talking to Dean Fogg, see if I can't do something like consulting, talk to people about magic that don't necessarily go through the Brakebills process."

"Hmm," Eliot ponders. "I could see that. You're pretty good at one on one."

"Do you… I mean, are you going back to Fillory? Soon? I meant to ask about Margo, I know when she left she wasn't exactly welcome in Fillory."

"She's working it out. She's teamed up with Fen and Josh for some sort of triumvirate kind of rule. Seems to be working okay so far. I'm just glad to be out of it."

"Yeah?" Quentin asks. His heart rate kicks up enough that it pulls his attention, for a moment.

"Oh for sure. Too much responsibility, not enough admiration. It's a thankless job." He steps into Quentin's space and smooths Quentin's hair back as he tilts his head up. "Besides, if you're going to be here, I'd rather be here."

It's exactly what Quentin wanted Eliot to say, and that might be the only reason Eliot said it, but Quentin will take it for now. He pulls at Eliot's shoulders to bring him down to kissing level, then shows him exactly what he thinks of that answer as best he can without words.

Still, sometimes he can't help but use his words anyway. "I love you," he says, pulling back. "I know it's probably too soon to say it, and I probably always come on too strong, but if I feel it I don't see why I shouldn't say it, I mean--"

Eliot presses two fingers to his lips to shut him up. "You are such a nerd," he says with a laugh. "Relax. I love you too." Quentin can't tell what his expression is doing, eyes wide and lips trembling, but he's too overwhelmed to care. Eliot _loves_ him, and Quentin may not know much, but he knows Eliot doesn't use that word lightly.

They kiss for a while, with Eliot pressing Quentin against the washing machine, lost in soft touches and each other. It's nice, sinking into a kiss that just gets to be, that isn't a means to an end. Quentin realizes that he doesn't have to obsess so much about the mosaic memories anymore, because there are so many new memories he gets to make now, with Eliot.

"Would it be entirely rude of me to go journal for a few minutes? My mind is kind of spinning right now and I think it'd help."

"Not rude at all. That sounds like a great idea. I'll make dinner while you write."

Quentin's heart soars. He feels so lucky, right in this moment, and that's the first thing he writes once he settles down at his desk.

He dumps his thoughts out on the page for a while, beginning to smell what he thinks is chicken parmesan baking in the oven. _I know things won't always be this perfect, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy this while it lasts._

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment! <3


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